


Drastic Measures

by windfallswest



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot, Post-Canon, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 07:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windfallswest/pseuds/windfallswest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Hadn't he always known Qui-Gon's mouth would be the end of him?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drastic Measures

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my head since I saw that scene in Attack of the Clones (which one should be pretty immediately recognisable). I have no other excuse, or explanation, or useful information, really. Reposted with minor edits from LJ.

Obi-Wan pressed a few buttons on the console. Nothing happened. He tried a few more, then sighed. Evidently, this wasn't going to be easy. He clambered up onto the platform and started prying up the access panel. 

There was a loud _whump_. Obi-Wan had time to think _oh shit_. Then he had quite a long while more to think up rather more elaborate strings of invective as he was rotated slowly over the platform. Eventually, he started saying them out loud. Then he started repeating himself.

Then Qui-Gon walked in.

Oh why, for the love of the force, Obi-Wan implored silently, did it have to be _Qui-Gon_? Hadn't he suffered enough today? His stomach sloshed queasily, and not just from embarrassment.

Qui-Gon regarded him for a couple of rotations with his habitual near-unflappable Zen, though the fact that he was enjoying this immensely did not escape his former padawan. Clinging to his own composure—also to his lunch—Obi-Wan said nothing. Once he had no doubt fixed this scene indelibly in his memory for decades of subtle future tortures, Qui-Gon strolled unhurriedly over to the console and stopped the spin. 

Only the spin. Obi-Wan was rather proud of himself for restraining his reaction to a mere raising of his eyebrows. It was always worse when Qui-Gon didn't start on him immediately. But Obi-Wan, well-accustomed to Qui-Gon's predilections by his padawan years, didn't start to sweat until Qui-Gon got out his lightsaber.

Qui-Gon circled him slowly. Once. Twice. Obi-Wan felt his belt loosen and eel away through the air to curl demurely on the floor. His sash followed it. He prayed his long tunic was loose enough to conceal his, er, reaction to this behaviour, which wasn't, after all, completely uncommon in Qui-Gon's proximity.

Qui-Gon's light sabre hummed to life. _He's run mad!_ Obi-Wan swallowed down his panic. Maybe, maybe the controls were stuck (the platform was demonstrably malfunctioning, after all) and he was going to take a more, um, direct approach to freeing his former padawan. Obi-Wan was all in favour of anything that got him down more quickly, not that he was looking forward to being held responsible for the machine's evisceration. But his _lightsaber_...? Wasn't that overkill?

When Qui-Gon struck, it was quickly and with precision. Obi-Wan looked down at his chest, half-expecting to see a red line scoring him down the middle. It was perfectly undamaged, the only marks visible beneath the new edges of his tunics old (or at least familiar). Obi-Wan's mouth went dry. Slowly, gathering his courage, he looked up to meet Qui-Gon's eyes.

Qui-Gon circled around behind him. Obi-Wan's heart was pounding louder than a marching army. He tried to relax. He could _feel_ Qui-Gon just off his left shoulder, a presence in the force as well known as his own breathing. Even though he traced the movement as it came, Obi-Wan still flinched at the light sabre's hum of movement and the familiar electrified feeling of a near miss. All his hair that was still short enough to do so was undoubtedly standing on end.

Slowly, the severed pieces of Obi-Wan's tunics slid down his arms and puddled over the energy cuffs at his wrists. Were slid. By something that wasn't hands.

Obi-Wan was definitely hard now; he had to bite his lip to keep from panting with it. And Qui-Gon...

He'd never dared hope—he'd barely dared _dream_...and yet, here they were, and it was pretty hard to misinterpret the touch of not-hands running up his legs. 

Obi-Wan _really_ hoped Qui-Gon had thought to bugger the surveillance cameras.

The _bzzt_ ing lighter sabre-hum cut off abruptly. Qui-Gon moved around to Obi-Wan's front and looked up at him. Their eyes met, and Obi-Wan felt something unmistakeably squeeze his ass before letting go.

There was a loud _rrip!_ and Obi-Wan's trousers split down the middle, falling around his ankles and exposing Obi-Wan's erection at about the level of Qui-Gon's nose. 

Obi-Wan made a strangled sound.

Qui-Gon took a step forward. He put one hand on Obi-Wan's hip and took his cock in the other. Instinctively, Obi-Wan tried to push into the touch, but he couldn't. Qui-Gon's hands were warm and dry. His thumb was stroking Obi-Wan's hipbone. 

" _Qui-Gon_ ," Obi-Wan gasped at last. 

"I know," Qui-Gon said softly. "Obi-Wan, I know."

Oh, Force. Obi-Wan threw his head back, the only part of his body he _could_ move, mind reeling. He bit his lip and fought for control. He almost lost it, when he felt Qui-Gon's breath on the head of his leaking cock. The hand disappeared briefly; when it came back, it was damp. 

Obi-Wan looked back down just in time to see Qui-Gon slide his mouth over his erection. Hot, wet suction. He felt something inside him break.

"Qui-Gon, stars." His hands clenched on cruelly empty air. This soft and steady suction was the best kind of torture. "I've wanted this for so long, wanted you. Wanted you. Oh, Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon." The name was like a prayer, salvation unlooked for. 

Obi-Wan was trembling when Qui-Gon pulled away. The air was cool on his wet and overheated skin. Words escaped him, drained out the back of his skull as though his brains were made of porridge. Qui-Gon was circling him again, only this time he touched Obi-Wan, ran his hands over his ribs and stomach, drew fingernails lightly down his side, caressed his legs, the still-booted backs of his calves, his thighs. Kissed the small of his back and spread his buttocks and licked—downwards.

Obi-Wan jerked and bucked in the restraints. Qui-Gon continued unperturbed, licking circles around the opening until Obi-Wan trembled and then pushing _in._ Qui-Gon's tongue probed him, loosening, opening. Years of quietly suppressed desires broke through the surface and he wanted Qui-Gon inside him, fucking him; wanted Qui-Gon's cock in his mouth; wanted his hands, his broad shoulders, his long legs and deep voice.

The scratch of Qui-Gon's beard as he literally tongue-fucked Obi-Wan drove him nearly mad, and hadn't he always known Qui-Gon's mouth would be the end of him? He was vaguely conscious of saying something. It might have been babble or begging or maybe just Qui-Gon's name, repeated over and over. Qui-Gon was not unaffected: his fingers gripped Obi-Wan's hips tightly enough to bruise, and every now and then something Obi-Wan said caused him to jerk and pause, as though gathering himself. Obi-Wan wondered what he would see, if he could look into his former master's eyes.

Qui-Gon moved one of his hands down between Obi-Wan's legs. A rough fingertip stroked the skin behind his sac. The hand moved slightly forward to cup his balls and roll them, then upward, tracing patterns on the skin of Obi-Wan's stomach, ignoring his straining cock. The teasing fingers flickered ever nearer and away. Obi-Wan, whose eyes had closed when Qui-Gon speared him with his tongue, opened them to watch Qui-Gon's hand playing over his body.

Obi-Wan's lips were forming the words _Qui-Gon, Qui-Gon, please, Qui-Gon_ , unquestionably begging now, hovering on the edge so that when Qui-Gon's hand finally closed around his cock it only took a few pulls before Obi-Wan was coming, shattering.

Qui-Gon pulled away, gently nipping Obi-Wan's ass as he did so. When he came back into Obi-Wan's view, he was licking off his hand. Obi-Wan, stupid with orgasm, could only watch while Qui-Gon finished. When he was done, Qui-Gon pressed a control on the console and the energy cuffs which had been holding Obi-Wan up disappeared.

Qui-Gon caught him and helped him down before he had a chance to collapse. He held Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in his neck, lips to skin.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon was saying. He pulled them apart and pried Obi-Wan's arms from their death-grip, letting fall what remained of the ruined tunic. Then, kissing him gently, Qui-Gon drew him down to the floor and settled beneath him. 

The kiss deepened until they were necking more like teenagers than Jedi Masters. Obi-Wan fumbled Qui-Gon's belt and sash away. His hand rubbed briefly over Qui-Gon's erection, drawing a very interesting sound out of the man. 

Obi-Wan finally got rid of his blasted boots, and Qui-Gon's (he had almost been ready to cut them off too, damned things), and his shredded trousers. They spread Qui-Gon's cloak beneath them, and Obi-Wan set about pulling off the rest of his clothes with fingers gradually regaining their dexterity. His efforts were constantly interrupted by Qui-Gon's persistently exploring hands. 

At last, they were both naked. Qui-Gon's cock rubbed insistently on Obi-Wan's thigh. Obi-Wan was nibbling his way down Qui-Gon's neck, enjoying the way he writhed. Qui-Gon fished around beneath him for something evidently digging into his back and Obi-Wan sat back on his thighs.

Qui-Gon came up with a little bottle of something. Lubricant of some sort, apparently, because he squeezed some onto his hand and applied it to his erection. Obi-Wan leaned forward, tangling his fingers in Qui-Gon's hair and kissing him. Yes, yes. Qui-Gon pulled him down. He nudged his thighs wider apart so he was straddling Qui-Gon; Qui-Gon worked first one finger, then two into Obi-Wan's ass, wiggling until he found the spot that made Obi-Wan arch and gasp and turn into a pliable mass of clay, whereupon he had little trouble manoeuvring Obi-Wan to the bottom of their little stack. Qui-Gon kissed his chest and jaw and lips, devouring Obi-Wan's mouth as he lined up his cock with Obi-Wan's entrance and thrust in.

Qui-Gon pushed in slowly; the stretch was more strange than painful. When Qui-Gon was buried in him balls-deep, he stilled. Obi-Wan splayed his hands on Qui-Gon's back and held him there, wanting to prolong the feeling of being filled and more than filled: _subsumed_.

Then Qui-Gon started to rock his hips gently, in rhythm with their kiss, with his tongue thrusting in Obi-Wan's mouth. Obi-Wan's fingers tightened to grip; his legs spread wide.

"Qui-Gon...don't stop," Obi-Wan mumbled into the kiss. 

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon panted back. He changed the angle and there, fuck, _there_. "Obi-Wan—"

" _Harder—_ "

At this range, Obi-Wan could see Qui-Gon's pupils dilate. Such deep eyes. He'd always tried to see himself in those eyes. Always wondered how they saw him.

"Let me hear you," Qui-Gon said. "Don't stop. Let me know this is—real."

Obi-Wan moaned. Qui-Gon slammed into him, not gentle at all anymore. Possessive, desperate.

"I'm here Qui-Gon. I'm not going anywhere." Qui-Gon was sucking on the skin beneath his jaw, just short of leaving a mark now. His hand drifted lower to find Obi-Wan's cock, which was hard again. " _Oh_. I'm _really_ not going anywhere."

Qui-Gon chuckled. His thrusts were growing more erratic. "Ah...I've dreamed about this."

Obi-Wan swore. "Warn a body...when you're going to say something like that," he managed in a strangled tone.

"But I want you to come, Obi-Wan. I want to feel you."

Oh, he was never going to have a coherent thought again in his life. He was going to be hearing that until he died, a permanent puddle of melted Jedi. How undignified. Feeling the breath of the words on his skin. He was never going to move again because he was coming, because Qui-Gon was coming inside him, because he could feel even the canned air of Coruscant singing with the Force and this was heaven.

Eventually, Qui-Gon pulled out, leaving Obi-Wan feeling empty but too sated to care much. They lay together for a while, skin to skin, soft kisses and few words, before they separated. Obi-Wan picked up a piece of what used to be his tunic and sighed. Drawn and quartered, poor thing. Evidently, being Qui-Gon's lover was going to be as hard on clothes as being his padawan had been. Obi-Wan tossed it to Qui-Gon and retrieved another with which to clean himself off.

Now. How was he going to get out of this room?

"Here." Qui-Gon handed him something: fresh clothes. Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed.

Qui-Gon shrugged unrepentantly, stole a kiss, and continued dressing.


End file.
